


Frightful

by sharkie335



Series: The 'ful series [10]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: BDSM, Gunplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Rodney, I didn't ask.  I told.  Now fire the damned gun."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frightful

They came in hot, but for once no one was injured. As the wormhole closed behind them, John finally lowered his weapon. Teyla followed suit, but Ronon took a moment more to relax. And Rodney tried to slide his gun back into its holster, only to miss and have to look down to aim. It was only then that he realized his hands were shaking from the near miss of the bullet passing within inches of his head. "Is everyone all right?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, but apparently they're even more antisocial than Teyla remembered. Trade with outsiders isn't allowed at all, and they were in a mighty hurry to chase us off," John answered.

Elizabeth sighed but waved them off to go get checked out by Beckett. "Debriefing tomorrow, okay?"

John nodded, and the four of them moved towards the infirmary. Rodney glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, seeing the pinched expression around his mouth and eyes. Oh, this wasn't good.

Beckett fussed over them for a few minutes, but cleared them easily enough. Rodney was already on his way back to the lab when John caught up to him. "The firing range. Fifteen minutes."

Rodney started to argue - he had things to do! - but the expression on John's face stopped him. John was _pissed_. Instead, Rodney nodded and headed to the lab to check in with Zelenka, who looked resigned but not surprised when Rodney told him that he wasn't staying for long, but he'd be back later. Taking long enough to grab a powerbar out of his desk, he headed towards the area of the city that they used for an armory and the firing range.

The whole area was swarming with off-duty marines. They were... doing military things that Rodney couldn't bring himself to bother about. He just hoped that there wouldn't be too many of them around to watch him get his ass chewed by Sheppard. Okay, he hadn't done very well on PX8-901, but that was actually pretty unusual these days. He'd just come so close to getting shot that he'd frozen, and he didn't think that Sheppard should be pissed at him for that.

He stepped into the firing range, letting the door shut behind him, only to stare in amazement. The room was completely empty of other people. That _never_ happened, as he well knew, since in the early days he'd tried in vain to find a time of day when he could practice without being watched. Nonetheless, the room was empty except for John, who stood at the line, methodically loading his gun.

"Rodney." He nodded at him, biting his lip and preparing for the reaming, "We need to have a little talk."

Oh, god. Apparently John was more pissed than he'd realized. "Look, I know that I didn't do all that well out there, but they were like twice my size, and one of them managed to land a shot right above my very important head and I'm not a soldier, I still panic when there are people shooting at me because I'm not you or Ronon or one of the marines - "

"Rodney!" He stopped and stared in surprise when John simply picked up the gun and fired once, without looking, hitting the bulls eye.

"What?"

"That's enough. Get over here." Rodney was moving before he realized it, stepping up to where John indicated. Before Rodney could think, John had slammed his gun into Rodney's hand and turned him to face the target. "Fire."

"What? No - "

"Rodney, I didn't ask. I told. Now fire the damned gun." Rodney set his shoulders and tried to aim the gun but his hands were sweating and shaking, only to almost drop it when John grabbed him by the shoulders. "I didn't say take all day to aim. Fire. Come on, shoot the fucking thing."

Clenching his jaw, Rodney closed his eyes and fired, hating the way the gun bucked in his hand. Opening his eyes again, he blinked at the hole at the edge of the target. It wasn't even close to a bulls eye, but that he'd hit the target at all was a miracle. He wasn't given time to be happy about it, because John's hands were all over him, adjusting his stance, spreading his legs, shifting his grip. He barely had time to realize what he'd done before John said, "Now, Rodney. Fire the fucking gun."

This time, the hole was at least on the target. "Better," John said, grudgingly, and Rodney relaxed, only to tense again when John shook him by the shoulders, pulling him out of his careful stance. "Now do it on your own."

Rodney tried to remember what John had done. Hoping for a clue, he glanced at John, but there was no help there. John's face was completely blank, giving away nothing. Slowly, he eased into what he thought was the right stance and aimed, shooting at the mocking paper target.

And missing it completely.

Rodney sighed and dropped the hand holding the gun, pointing it at the floor. "See? I told you I'm not a soldier. You're expecting too much from me."

Easing up behind him, pressing to him from shoulders to knees, John used his own body to shift Rodney into a position that was similar yet wholly different. "You're right. I expect a lot from you. I expect everything from you." John's hand snaked along the underside of Rodney's arm, lifting and pointing at the target. "Pull the trigger."

Rodney closed his eyes and leaned into John, and pulled the fucking trigger. When he opened them again, there was a new hole at the center of the target. John whispered in his ear, "I knew you could do it."

Blinking, he shifted his stance slightly, and now he could feel the difference as John moved with him. He settled his weight, moving back on his heels, and lifted the gun a little higher. Without waiting for John to tell him, he pulled it again, riding out the bucking of the gun, and looked over eagerly. Not a bulls eye, but close.

John stepped away, and Rodney shivered in the cold air that took the place of his warm body. "Next time, I expect that you'll pull your gun and actually use it. You can do it - you just proved that."

To himself, Rodney thought that it was unfair that he was expected to do things no scientist should have to do. Astrophysicists shouldn't have to shoot guns. Shouldn't even have to hold them. But he didn't say that. Instead, he lifted the gun and shot again and again, until it clicked on an empty chamber.

When he set the gun back down, his hands were shaking, but that look of horrible blankness was gone from John's face. He didn't say anything, just turned towards the door and started to leave, only to be startled by John pressing him face first into the wall. His hands came up to brace himself against the wall, and his head dropped, exposing the nape of his neck to John.

He wasn't really surprised by the teeth that settled against his skin, biting lightly. He shivered as the sensation washed through him on top of the adrenaline from the gun lesson, from the mission that went wrong, and as John bit harder he whimpered.

Then John pulled back and whispered, "Still afraid of your gun?" Rodney barely had time to react as John's hand slid down his thigh and pulled the glock from its sheath. He shook his head, eyes closed, barely breathing as the barrel of the gun trailed a cold path down his face. The damn thing was loaded, and had a hair trigger. If John breathed wrong, if he twitched, Rodney'd be dead, and they both knew it.

He should be screaming "Red." Instead, he shuddered and bit his lip, keeping his silence. The gun was pressed lightly against the back of his neck, and John's other hand made its way to the front of Rodney's shirt, unzipping it and then sliding up under his t shirt to fondle a nipple.

Terrified to move, he couldn't help the gasp at the first touch of John's fingers. His eyes flew open, to stare unseeing at the wall, but John whispered in his ear. "Close your eyes."

Without thinking, they slammed shut, leaving only the sounds in the room, the sensation of warmth where John leaned against his back, and the cold of the gun muzzle pressed against his neck. "Good boy. Now unfasten your pants."

Rodney whimpered, but his hands slid down to his belt, moving slowly. He unfastened and unzipped, letting his pants slide down his hips and legs. John's hands followed, one moving forward to touch his traitorous cock, the other still holding the gun, now pressed against his back. "Put your hands back on the wall and keep your eyes closed."

He did as he was told, but he couldn't control the whisper of sound. "John. Don't."

The gun moved back up to press against his neck. "Shut up, Rodney. If you trust me, you'll just relax. I'm just touching you." And John's hand was busy, slowly jacking his cock. Rodney did the best he could to relax into the touch, to try to forget the gun pressed against him, but it was impossible.

Then John's hand moved a little further down, pressing against his balls, and he whined quietly, high and tight in his throat. John chuckled. "Maybe I should put the gun here instead? Would you like that?"

Rodney shook his head frantically, and what did that say about him that he'd rather have his head blown off than his dick? But it didn't matter, because the hand holding the gun was already moving, and the muzzle was pressed up tight against his nuts, and Rodney was hyperventilating, trying to suck in enough air.

Amazingly, he was still hard, and when John started to jack him again, he twitched. He didn't open his eyes, but he could still beg. "Please, John, please. Just put the gun down. I'll do anything, but please..."

"Not till you come, Rodney. Want you to spill all over my hand. Come on, Rodney, give it to me."

Rodney bit his lip till he tasted blood. He was still acutely aware of the muzzle of the gun tucked up tight between his legs, but his dick didn't seem to care. He had to fight the urge to move his hips, but John's hand squeezed tighter, and he couldn't hold back anymore. His orgasm seemed to come from everywhere all at once, and he leaned his forehead against the wall and panted.

The muzzle disappeared, and Rodney felt like he could breathe again. John's voice was much lighter when he said, "Okay, you can open your eyes."

Rodney did, and the first thing he saw when he looked around was John's hand, still holding the gun - which was missing its clip. He nearly fainted in relief at the realization that he couldn't have been hurt. "You're okay," John murmured, his lips against Rodney's neck.

He nodded, and felt some of the some of the tension leave John. "Still afraid of your gun?"

He had to think about it for a minute. "Not so much, no. But if you ever do that again? I'm killing you."

John laughed roughly. "As long as you remember that you _can_ shoot when you need to, I won't need to."

Rodney turned carefully, since his pants were still around his knees. "You have a deal."


End file.
